It's a HardKnock Apocalyptic Life
by Ryosei Takashi Hime
Summary: It's a hard life when war awaits you on the outside, a harsh creator faces you inside, and loneliness is around every corner waiting to devour you. OC stitchpunk's story. Don't like? Don't read. T for extreme cussing.
1. Life is Pain

There was unbearable pain quite suddenly. And darkness. She couldn't see, but she could feel. She could feel the agony lingering from…something. She wasn't aware of the cause, but she felt it in every inch of her body. She wanted to escape the pain, but she couldn't move. Now, she was hearing something. There was a loud, frightening noise coming from somewhere ahead of her. She jerked at the straps that restrained her arms frantically, her shutters slid open, and she searched for the loud noise with a fearful expression. Her eyes swept around the room, passing over the foreign objects there with little interest. Where was the noise coming from? At last she found it. Across the room, on the floor, there was a person. Human. Woman. The words just came to her. The girl's black hair covered her face, but the words spewing from her like a string of garbled screams were obviously pained. She watched the woman until the words began to make some kind of sense.

"God dammit!" she was screaming. "He said it didn't fuckin' hurt! Fuckin' old fucker fuckin' lied! FUCK!"

The woman punched the floor, fell to her side, and moaned plaintively as she cradled herself. And the newly awoken creature strapped to a rickety frame of wood just watched. She remained on the floor for a long time, punching it from time to time, kicking her feet useless, punctuating each movement with a shout. Eventually, the woman grew silent. She stood at last, wiping a liquid from her eyes and face, sniffling softly. She approached the table with a limp in her step. As she got closer it became apparent that this woman was huge, much larger than her! She grew panicked, jerked harder, and opened her mouth in a tiny high pitched scream.

"Calm down, Thirteen," the woman snapped. "I'm not gonna eat your ass after I went through all that pain to birth ya."

The voice was harsh, offered no comfort, offered no sympathy for her strange situation. She shut her mouth and watched warily as the large hands undid the bindings. 13 felt herself falling, but the woman didn't catch her. She let her hit the tabletop with a loud _thunk_, not even giving her a second glance. 13 cried out in pain in the only way she knew how. She mimicked the woman, the only thing she knew of the world at the moment.

"God dammit!"

It must have been what one was supposed to say to express pain. The grin on the woman's face when she looked up was a reassurance. It told her she'd chosen the right words. She stumbled to her feet, fingers going to her head. Bald! Why was she bald? She was supposed to have hair. Somehow, she knew she was supposed to have long, beautiful, black hair. And it was very important! She heard a click, and the fingers feeling all over her head stopped as she looked up. The woman had something in her mouth and fire in her hand. She recognized fire, but the white cylinder in her mouth – which was steadily smoking now – wasn't familiar.

"What…what's…." she began, but petered off. The skin on either side of her mouth seemed to stretch as she spoke. She placed her fingers to her lips. Stitches. Two on either side.

"Cigarette," the woman replied, throwing the fire emitting, silver rectangle down next to her. 13 jumped back as it landed. "It's slowly killing my lungs, an essential organ for humans to live."

"Why…are you hurting your lungs?" 13 asked gently.

"Cause I fuckin' want to!" The shout was followed by a sigh. "Look, kid, I'm your creator. I brought you into this world and it's in the midst of a shitload of war. I don't even know what side I'm on anymore. I suggest you get with the god damn program pretty fuckin' quick. Read some of those books. Find out what the hell shit's called. The big one's a dictionary. Use it. I got shit to do, but I'll be back."

She grabbed some things, left the room, and 13 was alone. As rough as the woman was, the loneliness made her feel empty inside. She wanted to call her back, make her stay, even if she yelled some more. She looked over to the big pile of books in the corner, but didn't move towards them. She touched the large rope buttons on her front with a tiny metal finger, as though she thought she could touch the feeling inside her, pull it out, make it stop. They were primitive digits, just round metal poles connected at three different joints. But she knew no better. They were fascinating right now. She wiggled them, touched her face, touched the black, cloth-skin of her arm. She could feel both the fingers and the skin. She finally decided to look around her new surroundings.

As she turned from the books, her eye was caught by a shining light. She faced the source of the light to find a strange, strange creature staring back at her. She lifted her hand and waved at it. It waved back. She smiled slightly. It was almost like having company for a minute, though she quickly realized it was her own reflection. She ran up to the glass and looked herself over. She was made of black cloth from neck to knee. The folds of her sleeves were white, the collar around her neck: white, her face: white. Her optics were black. She touched them lightly. And metal. Looking down, she found her rather strange feet were of the same black metal. The silver poles that constituted her legs ran down into what looked like little black shoes. She touched her bald head again and frowned. She didn't like that. She turned from her reflection, the crudely drawn 13 on her back reflecting on itself as she moved away. She had better read the books, like her creator told her. She didn't want to make her angry.

She read non-stop and the time ticked by slowly one hour at a time. She felt it was a very long wait, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't yet have a good concept of time. She eventually fell asleep against the dictionary, tired from the soul transfer she knew nothing about. When her creator returned, she found her that way. She picked up a pencil and touched her lightly with the eraser, but she only fell to her side limply. Her shutters opened just enough to peek out at the woman's reaction. Her creator's mouth dropped, and the cigarette fell to the desk. She was worried about her! 13 had to resist the smile that itched at the corner of her stitched mouth. She held her position, hoping to see more worry. Instead, the worry seemed to become anger. Did everything become anger for her creator?

"Thirteen!" she exclaimed, picking her up by her arms. "Wake up, now! Don't fuck with me!"

A small laugh escaped 13's lips, and she opened her eyes the rest of the way. They landed on a very angry face, but the laughter came none-the-less. Her creator released her arms, letting her fall the short distance to the table again. It hurt, but 13 couldn't stop laughing. She wasn't laughing at the expression her creator had made or the fact she'd been able to trick the human. She laughed because she was full of joy at the fact that the harsh woman actually cared for her a little. It was wonderful to be cared for, for even a moment.

"Think that's funny, huh?" her creator huffed, retrieving her cigarette. "Little bitch. Got too much of me in ya."

There was a smile, and 13 stopped laughing to marvel at it, mouth slightly agape. The human put the cigarette back in her mouth, clamped her lips around it, and continued to smile softly, staring back at her. They stayed that way for what felt an eternity to 13. The first loving expression she'd received, the first real sign of approval, it made her heart ache. The creator lowered her head and whispered to her after a moment, smoke curling from between her lips.

"Name's Courtney," she stated, laying her head against her arm. "I'm yo' Mama, little mama. How's that sound?"

"My…Mama?"

13 hadn't gotten to the Ms in the dictionary yet, but the word was accompanied by a strange, warm feeling deep in her chest where the loneliness had ached earlier. It was soothing, wonderful, filling. It made her feel alive.

"That's right," she continued, using her free hand to hold the cigarette above her head now. "I birthed ya. Makes me your mother. But you can call me Courtney. Mama makes me feel old, kay?"

"Kay."

"Now, look. I have a lot of shit to do, Thirteen," she continued, voice stern again. "You'll be to yourself a lot. I'll bring ya whatever books I can get, but they're gettin' rare, and I can't make it to the damn library. It's been blown all to hell anyways. It _is_ hell out there. Hell. War is hell, he said. But Hell is other people. And if War is the death of people…. maybe it's not hell after all. Maybe War's the solution to Hell, in the end….Gift from the Gods. Freedom sent by way of destruction. Redemption by fire….all that good…shit…"

There was a sudden distance in Courtney's eyes as she mumbled away, and 13 resisted her urge to ask who had said such a thing about war, or what war was, or what hell was, or what redemption was. She could see it was a sensitive subject for her creator, and she looked up into her empty eyes. She put two tiny hands on one of her fingers. It brought the woman back to the present, but the smile was gone. She looked very tired, cigarette burning down to her fingers as she spoke. She put it out in a dish by the books.

"I'm gonna keep you in here for now. You'll be as safe as anyone can be in this fucked up world, but the day's gonna come I won't make it back. You leave when that happens, hear me? Get the hell outta here. Find someone to take care of your little ass, alright? You gonna do that for me, baby?"

13 wasn't sure she quite understood what she meant, but she nodded anyways. She just wanted to make her creator happy.

"That's my girl," Courtney grinned, rubbing her head with her index finger affectionately. "I got you this while I was out. Make a nice little bed, don'tchya think?"

She placed a sardine can on the tabletop. It had been filled with a soft, white cloth, and 13 crawled in eagerly. Courtney gave her a little laugh. 13 reveled in the sound. She was growing to love the sound of that laughter and after only a few hours of existence, could already tell it would be rare and special and treasured every moment of it.

"Go on back to sleep then," Courtney was saying. "I should probably get some –"

Courtney stopped in the middle of her sentence as a red light flashed above her head. 13 covered her ears as an alarm sounded, the house shook, and the world felt like it was ending. She ran for her creator, latched onto her finger, and screamed. Courtney looked down at the little creature with a look of pure exasperation.

"Alright, now," she demanded, shaking 13 off her finger. "Calm down. Just the fuckin' alarm. Shit. Don't be such a little bitch."

13 looked up in surprise as Courtney stood, grabbed a large object from a chair by the door, flung it over her shoulder, and put her hand on the handle of the large, steel door. 13 reached her hands out for her as she left, but couldn't stop her. She supposed she would be back, just like before, but in the meantime, she was alone. She crawled into her new bed, pulled the small piece of cotton square that served as her blanket up to her shoulders and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. She shuttered her optics tightly anyways and a page from the book returned her.

A-lone – _adjective_

Separate, apart, or isolated from others. Ex. _I want to be alone._

Alone. She was learning very quickly that she did not like that. She did _not_ want to be alone. She ducked her head beneath the covers and shivered as she tried to think of happy things, but she had a very limited supply of memories to select from and those none too pleasant themselves. Courtney would return, and then things would be better, she told herself. She repeated it to herself over and over as though it would be true if she only said it enough.

[Yes! An OC! I write this for myself entirely. There was a game in the forum where we added the numbers of the characters we were most like to come up with our stitchpunk number. It developed into an RPG, so I'm writing 13's back story to cement her character a bit more. I have to write on characters before they gain a solid personality, so it'll be easier for me to write her in the RPG if I write her by herself first. I don't expect anyone to read this, but post it just for the fact that it's technically fanfiction. And all fanfiction I write goes her upon completion. It's no big deal to me if anyone reads or reviews one way or another. Just try not to flame me too bad if you _do_ review, since I'm not going for a super serious, plausible thing here. XP More will be revealed about the nutty human along the way and how she managed to make a stitchpunk. Yeah, it's shitty.]


	2. Life is Loss

She awoke to sobbing. Again. Her creator left often and returned bloody or badly shaken most of the time. She was growing used to it. It was becoming normal. 13 crawled out of bed and to the edge of the table to find her. She was curled up against the door frame, door itself ajar. She hadn't even had it in her to make it all the way inside today. A large box lay near her, and it gave 13 the impression that she'd fallen. She heaved, choked, cursed, the liquids poured from her eyes, and 13 came to learn that it was the ultimate expression of inner pain. She also came to learn, she could not replicate this as she did Courtney's cussing. This was why, she had theorized, she could not rid herself of the hollow feeling that gripped her when she was alone. She tangled her fingers in the cloth of her chest, wishing she could make things better. But anytime she opened her mouth when Courtney was this way, she only managed to make things worse. So, she watched until the tears dried. The human pulled the door closed, pushed herself into a corner of the room, and fumbled with her cigarettes.

"Fuck," she cursed softly, lighter refusing to spark. "Come on! Come on!"

13 didn't get it. Why did the healing of inner pain have to be so damaging to her creator physically? She couldn't ask outright. She was afraid of being snapped at. Courtney was sensitive about a lot of things. 13 had learned nearly all of them. Her cigarettes, the alarm, the little "earthquakes" that rocked the house on a daily basis, the other humans who she spoke to through a crack in her door; these were all things she could not ask about. It kept her from being yelled at, but it also kept her from finding the answers to a lot of nagging questions that plagued her day and night. She watched the cigarettes burn down, one after another, as her creator rocked in her corner. It gave her some kind of comfort that 13 didn't understand. When she longed for comfort, she only wanted the touch of Courtney's hand, but for Courtney it seemed the opposite. When she was hurting, when she was in pain, she wanted to be alone, wouldn't answer the knocks at the door, wouldn't look at 13, maybe didn't even remember she was there. She just rocked in her corner, mumbling to herself sometimes, cradling whatever wounds she may have acquired earlier in the day. It confounded 13. She didn't understand it at all.

When the last cigarette had been smoked down, and Courtney collected herself, her eyes rose to meet 13's. The human looked away immediately. She did forget she was there, didn't she? Shame was evident in every inch of her face. That shamed look cut 13 straight to the core of her being, and somehow she felt it as though it were her own. Courtney couldn't stand to be seen this way. That was why she sought solitude when she was hurt. She didn't want people to know she could be. She stood after an awkward silence and walked over, turned her usual chair around, straddled it, hugged the back, and studied 13 carefully. 13 ran a hand over her smooth head, uncomfortable with such scrutiny. It was a habit she'd developed when she felt vulnerable. Courtney had noticed.

"Don't like your head, huh?" she asked, eyes soft. "Miss the hair, don't ya?"

"Miss it?" 13 asked. "Did I _have_ hair?"

"Once," the creator whispered, fingers almost rising to her own. She controlled the urge. "I'm sorry I didn't give you any. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay," 13 lied. "I don't mind."

Lying. There was a skill she was picking up fast. Little lies. Harmless lies. Lies that kept her from being afraid when she was alone and lies that kept her from feeling pain when Courtney was around. She held her lies close to her heart, wishing some of them were true. She gave her creator a smile.

"Alright, then," she shrugged. "If it doesn't matter to you… Don't amount to a pile of shit to me."

She fumbled with her lighter weakly. She'd learned that Courtney didn't like to show affection, didn't like the little doll to know she cared about anything. It didn't matter if it was important or not. It was important that 13 know that she didn't give a rat's ass about it. 13 was learning how to read between the lines. It bothered her that being bald bothered 13. She could tell. She could see regret, somehow, beneath her apathetic expression. Something in the way her brown eyes wouldn't meet 13's black optics. She made herself busy, opening a new pack of cigarettes. As 13 studied her creator's face, taking the chance while she could, there was a knock on the door. Courtney's face returned to the hard, stolid expression it always did when she had to receive human guests.

"Hide."

13 ran to the stack of books she had already completed in the first week of her existence, dove behind them, and did a little roll to amuse herself, slamming her back against the book like the characters in some of the spy novels she'd read. She kept as still as possible, though she knew her size would have made her nearly invisible even if she was doing cartwheels across the desk. She peeked around the pages as Courtney pulled the door open a crack. A male, she noted, green outfit. They always wore green or black. She didn't know the difference between those in one color and those in another, but it meant something to Courtney. She acted differently around the different colored humans. Green, like now, meant she was sometimes joking, sometimes angry, always casual. It was the stolid frown for the black-clothed ones. Serious. Business. Sometimes she saluted. But the door never opened more than a crack for either. It seemed understood among the humans that one didn't enter Courtney's room under any circumstances.

"What is it?" Courtney snapped at the human. "Can't you see I have trauma to deal with here?"

"Very funny, Nelms," the male replied. Nelms was what the other humans called her with a few exceptions. "Some of us have _real _trauma. I need you to take Karen's shift tomorrow. Her brother died in that gassing last night."

"Boo-fucking-hoo," Courtney sighed, pulling a cigarette from the pack with her mouth, other arm remaining on the door incase the visitor decided to make a mad dash for her personal space. "Find someone else."

"C'mon, Nelms," the boy whispered. "Not even you can be that cold-hearted. She raised him since she was ten. He was like a son to her. Give her a break."

"There are no breaks in war!" Courtney shouted, slamming the door in his face. "Find some other stupid fuck to shower with your bleeding heart, cause it ain't gonna be me!"

13 flinched at the slamming door, as well as the heartlessness of her creator. This hadn't been the first time she'd witnessed it. Death was common, though 13 still didn't understand it very well. It was painful as far as she could tell. Very painful. The looks on the faces she'd caught glimpses of were horrible. Sometimes she dreamed about them, and in those dreams she cried for them. But Courtney's answer was always the same. **SLAM!** _Fuck you! Why should I give a fuck?! What'd he mean to me?! Bleed your heart someplace else, motherfucker! We're all damned here! This is fuckin' war, if you forgot! We're all gonna die!_ 13 would cover the space on her head where her audio receptors were, but her thin metal fingers couldn't block the shouts. They slipped through the cracks and filled her mind. Such heartlessness. It hurt her inside, and she wished she could cry again.

The visitor didn't try again. No one ever did. Once the door was slammed, the humans were gone – green or black. They were gone. 13 slipped back behind the book and slid into a sitting position, arms wrapped around herself tenderly. She lowered her head to her knees, and it was silent for a while. She supposed Courtney was smoking. She never tried to talk to 13 if she wasn't in immediate sight. She would have to care to seek the little doll out, and she didn't care. She didn't care.

After that long stretch of silence, the sudden noise that began to softly drift through the air, didn't quite register in 13's mind at first. She felt something inside her stir as she noticed the soft notes, the brilliant voice of some woman she'd never heard before, the two noises climbing and falling together in perfect harmony. She sat up suddenly, poking her head around the book again to see who had been so blessed as to be let into her creator's room. But, when she looked, there was no one there. Instead, the box by the door was open, empty, and Courtney was nowhere to be seen. She ran to the other side of the books to find her carefully fiddling with something new. How had she missed that? It was huge! A large boxy structure, with a funnel of some kind growing from it, and a little black disc that spun.

"It's a phonograph," Courtney muttered. 13 was surprised she'd noticed her interest. She wasn't even looking at her, eyes focused entirely on the spinning disk. 13 became a little frightened. It was that distant look again. The one that meant she wasn't really here. "Some kid…had it in his arms. Birthday present, I think. Happy fuckin' birthday, kid. Say hello to Jesus for me, huh?"

"Who's Jesus?" 13 whispered cautiously.

"No fuckin' body," Courtney replied, face hardening, but eyes remaining empty and distant. "He's a made-up bastard we humans like to blame and credit for everything that goes wrong or right. It doesn't matter what it is. Jesus had somethin' to do with it. Nothin' was ever of your volition, never fruits of your own labor. No matter how hard I worked, how great I became, how much money I made, they always said it was a gift from Jesus! Fuck Jesus! I worked for everything I had! If they had any idea – any **fucking **idea – the things I did to make it to the top, only to get told to fuck off! I wasn't good enough! I wasn't **stable** enough! Fuck him!"

Her fists hit the table hard. Her eyes were still empty, but her face was wrinkled up in a look of fury. Her knuckles made a strange sound – crunching, cracking, breaking – the wood was splintered, and that red stuff she knew as blood flowered from tiny pinpricks in her skin. 13 didn't know who she was yelling about at this point; Jesus or the person who had told her to fuck off? 13 couldn't be sure. She drew back into the darkness of the shadow the stack of books cast over her. She'd leave her be for now. She was gone again. She just sat and listened to the soothing voice of the singer on the phonograph with her optics shuttered tightly, hand to her chest. She hurt inside for some reason. She couldn't understand why. She put her arms around herself again, trying to find some kind of comfort in her own touch. It wasn't the same. It wasn't what she needed. She buried her face in her knees again as Courtney began to mumble about things she didn't understand. She could hear her cleaning her gun in the background, behind the music, and the sound of metal scraping down the barrel mixed with the music, became a lullaby. 13 fell asleep.

[Yes, Majorkami. The blade fingers will come. X3 And it's gonna be so cruel to poor little 13. I suppose, just in case others are reading who aren't familiar with 13, I'll go ahead and show everyone the magnificent picture Ferret Coldfinger drewed for me! X3 Here it is:

http://s814(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/zz61/FerretColdfinger/?action=view¤t;=

And here's a scene from the RP she's featured in by Tane:

http://ebele(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Death-Slide-140618193

Oh! And I totally meant to mention before, but 13's voiced by Jennifer Tilly. :3 Imagine that voice coming from the freaky little doll above. Now, onto the comments involving Jesus. Don't hate me. I love Jesus. *pokes out a quivering lip* I don't believe in him, but I love him. Unfortunately, Courtney does not. The background I gave _her_ is riddled with excuses as to why she would be upset about this particular entity. Those of you who believe in Jesus, don't flame me, ple~ase? O3o]


	3. Life is Love

13 had grown used to the hectic life she was exposed to through Courtney, and stopped questioning it. She stopped trying to figure it all out. And it wasn't until she stopped caring that the answers came. She learned all about war. She learned all about death. She learned that the earthquakes were bombs. She learned that the alarm meant Courtney had to help fight something they called The Machines. She learned that Courtney's own creator – her own mother – had been taken from her by such things. She learned that Courtney wasn't as heartless as she'd been led to believe. And she learned all of this through a young man named Antonio.

He appeared quite suddenly. He forced his way into Courtney's room, but Courtney didn't seem upset. She let him enter, though she put on a show of pushing him back towards the door for a moment. No, people weren't allowed in her room. It had been all wrong. But 13 could only watch from her hiding place behind the books. That was when she learned the most important thing she'd ever learn in her entire life. She learned that she wanted to be touched. Truly touched. He started placing his hands all over her body. He held her close, fingers tangled in her hair as he pressed his mouth against hers. 13 watched in fascination, felt a pining in her chest.

Courtney stopped him – for what reason, 13 could never guess. She stepped on his toe pretty hard, and he released her, spewing those same words of pain Courtney so often used. He got angry. She got angry. And he left. But he came back – again and again. 13 didn't like the intrusion very much. She had to stay hidden more often, and Courtney started acting angrier towards 13 when he left. Angry that he couldn't stay. Angry she wanted him to stay. 13 would apologize. Courtney would listen to her recordings and clean her gun furiously. She came home later and later as the weeks went on, leaving 13 shivering in the dark – alone. And one night…..One night Courtney did not return at all.

13 sat in her bed, covers pulled tightly around her as she waited for her creator to come home, but she didn't. She had said she wouldn't one day. Did she want 13 to leave? Did she want 13 to find her? Had that been the meaning behind her promise in the beginning? She couldn't remember it well enough to know what she was supposed to do. She was afraid, but she had promised. She had _promised_. She crawled out of bed and looked around the table. She owned very little aside from the bed and the books. Both were too large to take with her. As she crept across the tabletop, the movement of her reflection in the small mirror caught her eye. She jerked back from it, her gears speeding in preparation for flight – it certainly wouldn't be fight. She realized her mistake quickly and relaxed. Courtney's voice seemed to be in her head. _Don't be such a little bitch._ She shook it off and ran to the edge of the table. She didn't know how she was ever going to get down. The tabletop was all she'd ever known of life. Courtney never saw fit to let her have the run of her room when she was away and was too distracted to watch her when she was there.

She spotted the wire of the lamp Courtney kept at the very corner of the desk and hurried to it. She swallowed her fear with a look of determination, remembering Courtney's words of "encouragement" and took the dive. She held tightly to the black cord as she slid down slowly, one notch at a time. She didn't have it in her to let gravity alone do the job. She eased off the wire and looked around at the floor of the room she'd occupied since birth. She'd never really looked at it closely before. It was covered with cigarette butts, bullet casings, and reddish stains. She found herself extremely unsurprised.

Now, she just needed to find a way out. The steel door barely had a crack at all, and she knew Courtney kept it locked up tight when she was away. She glanced around the room for any kind of inspiration or tool. Her eyes lighted on just the thing and she grinned.

Courtney bid Antonio goodnight and pushed her door open as quietly as possible. She flipped the light switch, and her eyes immediately went to the table as she closed the door. 13's bed was empty. Strange. She was usually watching her from beneath the covers. She usually hopped out when the door was closed and waited eagerly to see if Courtney would pay attention to her that night or not. But she didn't. The covers were flat and still. Courtney felt a sense of dread growing in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"Thirteen!" she demanded, stomping over. "Where are you?"

No answer. She knocked the books off the table, but there was nothing there.

"Thirteen, answer me!" she screamed, causing Antonio to jump on the other side of the door.

He reached for the door, but hesitated. Like anyone on the base, he was never quick to rushing into Courtney's room unannounced. The hesitation was overtaken by worry in seconds, and he flung it open to find the unstable soldier crawling around on the floor. She was tossing boots around the room, flinging guns to the floor, overturning chairs, throwing her few civilian clothes to the wind, and all the while she screamed.

"Where the fuck are you?! Answer me, you little bitch! You answer me right now!" Her voice was breaking, anger giving way to panic and fear. "Answer me!"

"Nelms," Antonio whispered from the door, gently.

He didn't want to spook her. She'd been known to go into rages before. But the gentle tone didn't work. She jumped to her feet and gave him the most frightening look he had ever seen in his life. He could barely recognize the face of his lover beneath all the fury. She rushed him, tangled her strong fingers in his shirt, and slammed him against the doorframe. His feet lifted from the ground as she pushed him up, up, choking him with his own shirt.

"Where is she?!" the diminutive girl growled.

"Who?" Antonio asked, fear creeping into _his_ voice this time.

"Where the fuck is she?!" she continued, shaking him. "Where is she?! What did you do with her?"

"Baby, calm down," he pleaded. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

Courtney realized this and her eyes clouded with fear again, her face easing into a blank look. She seemed to be thinking. Slowly, some kind of realization came to her face and then vanished. Only fear remained. She dropped him and turned, streaking down the halls of the base like a bolt of lightning. She knocked superior and foot soldier alike out of the way as she ripped by. Papers flew into the air, guns were knocked to the floor, and all the time she was screaming in the most emotional voice any of her fellow soldiers had ever heard from her.

"Thirteen! Thirteen!" she cried, bursting into rooms, crawling under tables, knocking heavy furniture halfway across the room with a single swing of her arm. "Oh, god! Oh, god!" she screamed, again and again, rocking with her head in her hands at each empty room. Where was she? Where was she? After each momentary break-down, she would be off again, leaving the occupants of the room bewildered and shocked. She didn't care. She couldn't see them in her frenzy. She only had eyes for a tiny, black and white doll, had to find her, had to find her. She searched every room, personal or not, used the crazy look in her eye to reach classified areas, and rid herself of physical obstacles by pure brute force. But she was nowhere to be found.

"Pleeease?" Courtney moaned at last, lying in the floor of an empty briefing room momentarily. "God, pleeease! Give her back to me! Don't take her! I swear I'll be better. I'll be so much better. Just bring her back to me!"

"Nelms!"

Antonio had caught up to her.

"What on earth has gotten into you?! Do you realize how much trouble y-"

"I have to find her!" she gasped out, tears covering her face as she grabbed onto his pants legs with that iron grip. "Please, help me find her!"

"Who are you talking about?!"

"My baby," she choked out, falling at his feet. "My baby…."

Antonio look concerned at this, kneeled beside her, and held her face between his hands. He wiped at the tears there with his thumbs and forced her to stare into his eyes.

"You don't have a baby, Courtney," he whispered. "You know you can't have a baby. Don't do this to yourself."

She shook her face free of his grip, looking enraged. He reached for her again but only caught her boot with his chin. She jumped to her feet as he fell back and dashed out the door to continue her search. The rage had managed to chase the tears from her eyes, but the fear was still there, the panic, the manic determination that caused her comrades to edge away from her. It made the search somewhat easier. Most people were scattering and abandoning their rooms. An announcement had probably been made. She would be apprehended soon. She knew this, but she couldn't stop herself. She felt like she was wading through thick mud, the object of her obsession just out of reach. She couldn't stand it. Her legs grew weak, she began to slow, she hated herself for it, felt weak, felt useless, felt a failure!

And when she at last found the precious stitchpunk she'd ripped from her very being, she was so relieved that her knees gave out. All the breath left her lungs, and she just stared up at her, trying to catch her breath. 13 was standing on the shelf next to a box of ammunition, searching through the bullets as though she would find Courtney there. Upon noticing her creator, 13 smiled widely and waved. Courtney felt like flat out killing her and squeezing her to death in the tightest hug she could manage at the same time.

"You.." she choked. "You…get…down here."

"I can't," 13 replied, weakly. "I knocked the string to the floor."

She pointed and Courtney put her fingers to her head, squeezing it between them like she wanted to crush her skull. She doubled over, put her head to her knees, and shook violently. There was a sound that 13 had never heard before coming from beneath her curtain of hair. It was almost a scream…but it wasn't. It was very high-pitched. It was like a whispering scream, she decided, as she watched worriedly. In any case, it did not bode well for her. She could tell her little adventure had been a mistake already. When Courtney stood, and put her hand out to her, she crawled into her palm obediently, looking ashamed of herself. Courtney tucked her away in the pocket of her jacket without a word and snatched a random hat from another shelf behind her. She hid her hair beneath it and hurried to her room. She no longer had the energy to run, but she made a few sprints now and then. She was in serious trouble, and she had to get 13 back to her room before she was grabbed by someone. When she finally managed to reach her refuge from the world, 13 was deposited on the table roughly. She held back the sound of pain that bubbled up in her voice box, and sat there with downcast eyes. She was most certainly in trouble.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Courtney demanded, trying to keep her voice down. "What in the nine circles of hell did you think you were doing?! Do you know how much fucking trouble I am in because of your ass?! Do you?! God dammit!"

She punched herself in the head, shocking 13 into looking up at her. She reached her hands out as though to stop the self-abuse. She couldn't. Courtney began mumbling to herself about things 13 couldn't quite understand. The laws of the army, the consequences she would be facing for what she had done in her blind fear. She stopped abruptly at the mention of something called court martial and treason. She beat her own head with her fists with another stifled scream at the thought of these things. She finally turned her attention back to 13 at last, and the little stitchpunk drew back in fear.

"Don't. You. EVER EVER DO THIS SHIT TO ME AGAIN!" she bellowed, all stealth leaving her. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT DID TO ME?! DO YOU….Do you know…what….What if….what if you…had…."

13 stood in utter shock as she watched the tears spill out from the corners of Courtney's eyes, her face twisting in a look of agony. A small, choked sound came from her throat. She was trying her hardest to hold it in, but she was losing the battle. She fell to her knees, her head hit the table, and she covered her it with her arms as the sobs came in uncontrollable waves. She could almost feel the way Courtney's chest hitched as she cried loudly and freely. Over her. 13 touched her chest softly, knowing she would cry as well if she could. She threw caution to the wind and ran for Courtney, throwing her arms as far around her head as she could. She buried her face in her hair softly and made a few choked sounds herself. It was the closest she could come to expressing her own sadness at seeing her creator brought to such a state.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sorry. You didn't come back," 13 sobbed. "I thought you wanted me to leave. I thought you wanted me to find you."

The sobs stopped abruptly at this and Courtney raised her head. 13 stared into her eyes. She looked like another person as she stared back. Her face was soft, drooping, even, with the weight of her tears. There was a lost look in her eyes, as though she didn't know what to do. 13 placed her tiny fingers against her cheek, wiping at the tears, and leaned forward. She pressed her mouth to Courtney's bottom lip the way she'd seen Antonio do so many times through the crack in the door. Courtney looked a little confused at first, but a smile slowly formed on her lips. And then the laughter. The sweet sound of her innocent, pure laughter. Nothing like the derisive chuckle she'd heard before. Oh, 13 would never forget that. Courtney wiped at her face herself as the laughter faded away.

"Thirteen," she said, voice gentler than 13 had ever heard or ever would again. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mama."

[Eh, I didn't like the last chapter so much. XP I should stop throwing things up as soon as I finish them without giving myself time to think about it first. So, _this_ chapter eased up on 13 a little, threw some cheese into the recipe, and a little bit of action. Sorta. Drama, maybe? *shrugs* I really like this one a lot just for the pure emotion. I couldn't figure out how 13 could get out of a locked room with a military grade steel door. So…yeah. Use your imaginations. XD I coulda probably fixed this up a bit better, but didn't. Whee~! I'm lazy, but it's my OC, and I'm not super serious about this, so I get to be! X3]


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